Not All That Glitters
by ashlanielle
Summary: When columnist/writer, David Smith meets cub reporter Rose Tyler, sparks fly...just not the good kind. When a seemingly average story takes a major twist, they're suddenly forced to partner up. Now the bickering duo must work together to expose the truth or risk losing their lives. As they do, they discover that not everything is as it seems-especially each other.
1. Prologue

**Author's Note: So...this is an AU that I'm working on. It takes place in the US, but a few of the main characters (Doctor, Rose, Pete, and Amy) will keep their nationality. I'm not sure about this one, so people's interest will determine whether or not I continue it. FYI I do NOT mean the number of reviews, just seeing how many decide to read! If it's a really low number, I probably won't continue. **

**It is based on the movie I Love Trouble. Several things will be similar, but I'm going to make a significant amount of changes. Okay...shutting up now. Thanks, and I hope you enjoy!**

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><p>Her lungs were burning, the small intakes of breath barely giving her lungs enough air. Though she was under the cover of darkness, she knew she was by no means hidden from danger. The unpredictability of the situation was palpable and she couldn't ignore it, no matter how desperately she tried. Shadows and faint outlines were all her eyes could decipher in the surrounding blackness, the eerie red emission of the emergency exits serving as the only illumination. Nonetheless, her tired eyes flitted around, anxiously searching for any sign of her partner. The longer they remained separated, the more time that agonizingly passed, the more she feared she would never see him again. Never see that cocky smirk or his boyish smile. Never have to deal with his maddening yet addictive presence anymore.<p>

The thought alone threatened to send her into a panic, and in that moment, she decided to step out of her temporary haven and search for him. It was a risk, she knew that; but there was no other option. She could not, _would not_ leave him. Cautiously, she crouched and moved one foot in front of the other, trying to avoid the fallen cords and praying the aged and swaying metal wouldn't betray her location.

She was halfway across the catwalk when their pursuer emerged from the shadows directly in front of her; the sparse red lights, which once promised to lead her to sanctuary were now damning, and casting an eerie halo over her adversary. He looked at her, his eyes as black as the room around them, his smile predatory. She felt her muscles twitch with the urge to flee, but instantly reconsidered that impulse when she saw something glint in his hand.

He clicked his tongue reprovingly, approaching her slowly, menacingly. "Now, now. You've been so clever 'til this point, let's not spoil your track record by doing something as stupid as running."

Her mind was in a whirl as she tried to formulate some sort of plan; but it was in vain. Though she knew it was the end for her, she continued to train her eyes onto the evil before her, unwilling to give him the sadistic satisfaction of seeing her fear. Her only hope was that _he_ had been able to escape, that he was safe. She smiled at that thought, a peace settling over her, and she saw a look of confusion enter her executioner's eyes.

The sound of a door opening broke their gaze, and they both turned to see the source—her partner. She felt her heart leap at the sight of him but then instantly drop at the realization that he was still in danger.

_Why couldn't he, for once, just bloody __**listen**__ to me?_

Unconsciously she took a step forward, but her body was instantly jerked back as a powerful arm seized her waist, pressing so tightly into her abdomen that it was a struggle to breathe.

She could see her partner's eyes widen in fear before narrowing in anger, his jaw locking with restrained fury. He approached them, his steps determined yet cautious.

"Uh-un-uh," their antagonist warned, his voice unnervingly melodic. "I wouldn't keep on if I were you." He placed the cold barrel at her temple, slowly grazing it downward across her cheek. "It'd be a shame if something happened to our pretty little thing, wouldn't it? Well, to be fair, something _will_ be happening to her; but it would be much less civilized than I planned if I have to finish it up here."

In her partner's eyes, she could see his mind working. He was grasping for something, anything to turn the odds in their favor; but she knew there wasn't anything he could do for her now. His eyes honed in on her, and she saw the tiniest hint of a smile.

"Jeopardy friendly, aren't ya, Tyler?"

She faint breathy chuckle. "Can't let ya have all the fun, now can I?"

"Aren't you two just _adorable_!" their adversary snickered. "Shame to break up such a lovely duo. But," he sighed insincerely, "unfortunately, that's not how the game's going to end. So, Smith…any last words for our girl here?"

With misted eyes Tyler pleaded, begged Smith to run while he still had the chance. She wanted—no, _needed_ him to be safe. His eyes softened as they continued to match hers.

"You trust me?"

"Always," she promised immediately, her low yet firm in resolve.

Without hesitation, Smith swiftly turned and slammed the lever beside him, plunging her and the madman towards the glass ceiling below them.


	2. Every Story Has A Beginning

_**Author's Note: Lemme just say sorry. I could give you the reasons why this took so long to finish, but honestly, it doesn't really matter! I've kept you waiting far too long, so why burden you with the 'whys.' I appreciate any interest kept in this story. If you've read anything from me before, you know that I will never abandon a story! Never, ever (yes...I said it...)**_

_**So, this chapter picks up roughly two weeks before the Prologue chapter. It's long, but necessary. Please bear with me on this development. This story, although inspired by I Love Trouble, is going to deviate quite a bit. Which means it's more involved, more so than Choosing Realities. If there's some confusion, rest assured that I everything will be explained (I can't handle plot holes/inconsistencies). Also, this story takes place in the US. The only characters that keep their ethnicity are David, Rose, Pete, and Amy. **_**_And for the sake of the plot I have planned, Donna is Wilf's daughter, and Paige is the granddaughter. You will find out about Donna later on. _**_**Now, I'm gonna shut up and let you read. I hope you enjoy!**_

_**Thank you to WHOvian4ever and KTRose (on Teaspoon) for selecting the names at the end. And to EmKayWho...more thanks than I can express.**_

_**One thing that I haven't included over here on FF is a song for each chapter of my stories. Each chapter has a song that applies in some way to the story as a whole. I hope you get a chance to listen to them. **_

_**Pressure-Queen (ft. David Bowie)**_

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><p><em><strong>Nearly Two Weeks Earlier…<strong>_

One only had to spend a mere ten minutes with Wilfred Mott before realizing a fundamental truth—Wilfred Mott was _not_ one for ambiguities. When it came to matters of significance, his words were clear, precise, and left no room for interpretation. And since he always made sure to let others know where they stood, he appreciated having the courtesy returned, especially by those associated with him—those such as the middle-aged man sitting in front of him and currently weaving an impressive web of vagueness.

Said middle-aged man was Nathan Blane, and nearly since the beginning of his tenure on _The Centurion_'s board, he and Wilf had been at odds. Whereas Wilf's focus was maintaining moral integrity and searching for the truth hidden within the midst of speculation, Nathan favored numbers above all else—where the paper ranked, gross monthly earnings, circulation, online statistics, all of it. Even though _The Centurion _had maintained a solid ranking in New York's Top 10 for many years, Nathan was very vocal about his dissatisfaction with Wilf's editorship, attempting multiple times to use his influence on the board to force him out. Despite said diligent efforts, he'd never been successful—much to Wilf's relief. So to have Nathan sitting in his office, prattling on, and attempting to give off a causal, friendly air sent up so many red flags that it was nearly blinding.

Finally, and much to Wilf's delight, Nathan finished up his useless speech and maintained eye contact, waiting for a response.

Momentarily breaking his gaze, Wilf silently sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, batting back his mild irritation.

"Could you do me a favor, Nate, and just tell me why you're here?" he asked, turning his attention back to the man.

A flash of annoyance appeared in Nathan's eyes and his shoulders visibly tensed. "Don't tell me I just sat here for over ten minutes and you didn't hear a single word I just said."

Wilf's eyes gave a mirroring flash of annoyance. "No, I heard you. Thing is, even though you talked an awful lot, you really didn't _say_ anything. So…," he trailed off, cuing Nathan.

Gruffly sighing but still maintaining the illusion of friendliness, he said, "The buyout happens today at noon. Sure you're aware of that. I've met the new owner—Pete Tyler—and he's a real forward thinker, very cutting edge. He has a clear plan for the direction he wants to take this place. Seeing as you've been with the paper for over fifteen years, I thought that out of appreciation for your loyalt-…"

"Lemme stop you right there. I may be pushing 65, Nathan, but I'm _nowhere_ _near_ senile," Wilf said firmly, a slight curtness lacing his words. He never had a tolerance for people lying to his face. "You an' I both know that this isn't about appreciation. You've _never_ had a positive word to say 'bout me in all the time we've known each other. So this," he gestured over Nathan's person, "is all for show. 'Cause whatever this visit is really about, you wanna come out looking like the good guy."

Nathan's mask instantly dropped, disdain in his eyes. "Alright, Wilf, you want it straight? Here it is: you're out. Well, as good as out. 'Bout time, too. I thought that you'd have retired or been six feet under by now, but…anyway, back to point. Tyler let us know that once everything's signed and official, he's going to announce several significant changes. Like I said, I've met him, and I can guarantee that after everything I've told him, you will definitely be one of those changes. Truth be told, I can't believe the board has allowed you to remain all these years. The way you run things around here…," Nate trailed off, grimacing in distaste.

"You mean having my people actually find out the real story behind things, as opposed to sensationalizing everything like some godforsaken tabloid?"

"Oh for God's sake, Wilf," Nate snapped, rolling his eyes, "Could you, for once, forego the sanctimonious crap? I'm so sick of your freakin' holier-than-thou attitude. You want sainthood—feed some orphans. But don't use a major newspaper for your 'moral' crusade."

"Reporting what's _factual_ is _not_ waging some sorta Holy War. It's doing my job."

"Maybe in the Dark Ages, but not nowadays. The media isn't about facts, Wilf. It's all about perception," Nate sneered. "It's about giving people what they want, and what they want is dirt. They want to know every scrummy secret, every skeleton in every closet, every sordid affair—whether it's confirmed or not. Anything to distract them from their pathetically mundane lives. It's like a drug, a craving that's never sated."

Wilf, though a kind, good-natured man, found that he couldn't help the scowl that suddenly marred his features. People such as Nathan Blane were the reason why reputations were ruined, why careers were destroyed, why lives were destroyed. His dislike had officially morphed into disgust on seeing Nathan's warped mentality.

"Addicts need rehab," he answered determinedly, his eyes narrowed.

A slow, patronizing smirk crept up Nathan's cheek, and he scoffed in derision. "Once an addict, always an addict. You know that, Wilf. So, _no_…they don't need rehab, they just need a new dealer."

Though he was a man of admirably patient tolerance, Wilf could no longer stomach the repellant man-…no, not a man…merely an entity, a presence that incited bile to burn his throat. Rising from his seat, Wilf fixed an unwavering gaze at Nathan.

"I believe it's time for you to leave, Nathan."

Another smirk of condescension appeared as the man stood. "For once I completely agree with you." His eyes flickered to his wristwatch. "You got a good three hours to let everything sink in. You shouldn't need more time than that, right?"

All of his antagonistic jabs proved ineffective as Wilf remained his determined stance, absolutely nothing wavering under the onslaught. Nathan turned to leave, and just as he opened the door, he looked back at Wilf one last time.

"I'd say 'take care' but…," he trailed off, knowing that his point had been clear, and finally exited.

Wilf quietly stared at the door for a minute or two after its closing. Suddenly feeling every bit of his almost 65 years, he slowly slumped into his aged chair. He propped his elbow on his desk and braced his forehead against his fingers, sighing as the seeds of uncertainty began to take root.

***NATG***

It was a quarter till one when the elevator doors parted and a young woman exited, coffee carrier in hand. She had no sooner taken three steps, when her mobile sounded and she stopped midstride to retrieve it from her bag. Just as her fingers curled around it and she began to lift it to her ear, a sudden force rammed into her shoulder, causing the phone to clatter onto the floor.

Whirling her head to the side—her long, dark brown and red ombre hair whipping the air—she was just in time to see the offender hurry down the hall.

"Dude—seriously?!" she hollered out to the man, who continued on his way as if he'd heard nothing at all. Even though he was practically out of sight, she narrowed her eyes and growled lowly. She turned back and started to stoop to retrieve her mobile, when a pair of scuffed dress shoes came perilously close to her treasured possession. Like a shot, she flung her arm out, roughly hitting the approaching pair of shins. She tilted her head back and glared at the man she'd just halted.

"Dude, you break my phone, I break your foot—we crystal?"

The startled man rapidly blinked at her, silenced by her not-so idle threat. He only lasted under her glowering scrutiny for a few seconds before stepping wide around her and briskly putting distance between them.

"That's what I thought," she snorted amusedly, retrieving her phone and checking the missed call as she meandered to her desk. She was just about return the call, when the sight of multiple cardboard boxes cluttering her area brought her up short. Her brows scrunching in confusion, she slowly inspected them, poking a few with the tip of her boot.

Turning her focus to the office directly behind her desk, she noticed that it was unusually shut up. The confusion, curiosity, and worry within her began to twist and twirl, and rushed in to find out just what exactly was happening, her eyes instantly landing on the aged man sitting behind the desk. Warmth filled his eyes on seeing the young woman, but not before she caught a glimpse of his weariness.

She took a step towards him. "Gramps, wha-…"

"Hello, sweetheart, I was starting to worry about you," Wilf greeted his granddaughter.

"Yeah…sorry 'bout that," she said replied slowly, taking a few more steps forward, "Plumber barely finished an hour ago. Y'know how they say they'll be there between 8 and 10? Yeah…that's a load a' crap."

"Cheery this morning, aren't you, Paige?" Wilf chuckled at her grumbling. "I take it then that you haven't had any coffee this morning."

Paige raised the drink holder. "Had to settle for a hot and ready replacement because _someone_," she drawled pointedly, "took the last Keurig cup, which meant that I couldn't get my morning fix—thus the source of my chippery-ness."

Wilf felt a fire flash in his veins at the mention of a 'fix.' The remnants of his earlier conversation with Nate and the revelation of his despicable character, still lingered in his mind. Forcing that all aside, he cleared his throat and smirked, though it was far from derisive.

"'_Chippery-ness_?'Paige, you took every AP English course known to man—is there a reason you're inventing your own vocabulary?"

Pursing her lips and cocking an eyebrow, the nineteen year-old held off her retort and stared appraisingly at her grandfather.

"Something's off with you…what is it? What's goin' on?"

Rising from his desk chair, Wilf approached her. "One of those mine?" he asked as he reached for the carrier.

Quick as lightening, Paige darted out of his path, pulling the coffees close to her chest.

"Aaat! Don't think so, Gramps. I know deflection when I see it, so you're not getting this dark roasted deliciousness until you come clean about what's bothering you!"

Wilf sighed and briefly closed his eyes, his fingers rubbing his lids for a moment before looking at her once again. "It's nothing, sweetheart. Everything's fine for now. Nothing to worry about."

The words had no sooner left his lips, before Paige's eyebrow cocked to an unnatural height. "'_Fine for_ _now_'…," she parroted disbelievingly, "Which means that '_later'_ is _sooo_ gonna suck. So how's about you an' me go all proactive and hash it out now? Save ourselves all that 'in the moment' drama?"

"There is nothing to discuss," he maintained, his tone now more serious.

While there were times that Paige was incredibly mature for her young age—where she was insightful and wise beyond her years—that was not one of such moments, and she rolled her eyes. "Oh, that is such _bull_! I'm not blind, Gramps. Y-…"

Wilf set his jaw, frustrated not only with her prodding, but her attitude as well. "Let it go, Paige," he insisted, cutting her off, his tone of voice hardening.

She straightened her stance, putting a hand on her hip defiantly. "Fat chance!"

"Paige Catherine…," he replied warningly.

"Grandfather Wilfred," she countered, matching his tone and refusing to back down from the fight. It hurt her to take such an attitude with her grandfather, but something was definitely troubling him. They were each other's only family, and protecting him was her top priority. So she _would_ find out what or _who_ had caused him pain, and would take care of it—personally.

Wilf maintained his hardened gaze with hers. He did not want to involve Paige in his personal misgivings, to burden her with such things. But as he continued to look upon her, taking in her unwavering stance and the steel resolve in her piercing blue eyes, Wilf couldn't help but soften his own stance. Though there was no physical resemblance, it was in moments such as those that she reminded of him of her mother, his beloved daughter, Donna—her fierce loyalty, her passion, her brilliance, and especially, her sass.

Stepping close to him, Paige tenderly placed her hand on his arm. "_Please_…"

It was that final, earnest plea—spoken in such a soft, childlike tone—that at last caused Wilf to relent. Exhaling a slow, silent breath, his features softened completely, allowing the earlier weariness to become visible.

"The buyout's today, and…and there's a good chance that I'll be let go. More than a good chance, if Nathan's to be believed."

The heat of Paige's fury was practically radiating off of her in waves. Those crystal blue eyes of hers sparked and every muscle in her body tensed as she valiantly held onto the last thread of her restraint. She knew of the trouble Nathan had caused her grandfather, heard the workplace gossip he'd diligently tried spread. It wasn't hard to conclude that Nathan had something to do with Wilf's probable termination, and it was that knowledge that finally pushed her off the edge.

Clearing her throat, she shoved the coffee carrier into her grandfather's hands. "Right…," she growled, shucking her leather jacket and tossing it onto the small sofa behind her, "Which one's Nathan? He the fat baldy, or the tall guy that walks like he has a stick up h-…"

"Paige, take a breath, and tell me what you're up to," Wilf instructed. Although he knew the answer, he wasn't concerned, knowing how to best handle the situation.

"What's it look like?" she asked, adjusting several of the bulkier rings on her fingers, "I'm gonna find that bloody wanker and see if black and blue look good on him!"

"You need to cut down on the amount of time you spend with David. Too many days in a row, and you start talking like him. And, let's be honest—it's just weird, sweetheart."

Paige just rolled her eyes before pointing a finger at him. "I know what you're doin', sneaky pants! You're trying to distract me from my mission, but it's not gonna work. If that friggin' pompous piece of-…"

"There's nothing that needs taken care of, nothing to fix. It's happening—simple as that."

The resignation in Wilf's voice hit Paige like a slap to the face, and her lips parted in shock. "You're just gonna let this happen? Just roll over 'cause they tell you to?!"

Wilf sighed, his shoulders slouching. "P-…"

"This is your home, Gramps…_Our_ home!" her voice thundered. "I've spent practically my whole life in this place. I lost my first tooth in the Copy Room. Twisted my ankle sliding down the banister and crashing into the wall. Got my first kiss in the back of the Supply Closet on 6th. Heck, my initials are carved into the floor over there," she gestured to the back corner, "And you're just gonna let someone kick us out?"

"I'm pushing 65, sweetheart. At this point, it's basically early retirement."

"You don't do retirement, Gramps! You _barely_ manage sick days. Your two days of convalescence is the whole reason I spent my entire morning sans caffeine and waiting for the plumber to grace me with his presence."

Wilf couldn't help but softly snort in amusement at the truth of her assessment. Though his throat had been raw and his body had ached, he'd been determined to prove that he was 'perfectly fine' and that he was 'more than capable' of fixing their slightly leaking kitchen faucet. Unfortunately, that had somehow resulted in the removal of the garbage disposal and a scathing look from his granddaughter. The same granddaughter who had an undisputable point—he wasn't made for full-time domesticity. Neither of them was made that way, to be honest. However, it seemed that the decision had been made for them, whether either of them liked it or not.

He was just about to emphasize that point to her, when he was stopped by the knocking and opening of his office door. Both he and Paige turned their attention towards the sound, and were immediately met with the sight of a tall man, an impeccably tailored suit fitting his frame. His posture was perfect, clearly that of a highly professional businessman; yet there was something about him that kept him from being intimidating—at least in that moment.

"Hello," the man greeted, "Sorry to interrupt. Name's Pete Tyler. I was hoping that you and I could speak for a few moments, if you don't mind, Mr. Mott."

The only thing that surprised Wilf and Paige more than the man's British accent was his identity—Pete Tyler, new owner of _The_ _Centurion_. The formerly vocal young woman suddenly had no voice, merely widened eyes and a slightly gaped mouth. It was only when Paige caught a flicker of mirth in the new owner's eyes that her surprise faded and her fire returned. Quickly schooling her flustered features, she regarded the new owner with a taut, forced smile.

"Right," she said gruffly, picking up her jacket and taking back the coffee carrier from her grandfather, "Guess I'll just leave you two to your lil'…chat…" She trailed slowly towards the door. "If y'need me, for anythin' at all…I'll just be…"

Wilf lifted his brow. "Paige…," he drawled, that one word directing her to hurry it up.

"Right…yeah, I got it…I'm leaving…," she assured, finally stepping through the door and pulling it close. Just before it latched, she pushed it open again, popping her head into the room. "But, if you need me…"

With a sigh and two steps, Wilf was at the door and pushing it close. "Yes, thank you, Paige."

"Well, that was rude…," was Paige's muffled response.

A small smirk tugged at the elder man's lips as he listened to his granddaughter mutter and putter around on the other side of the door. With a faint chuckle, he turned back to face Pete Tyler.

"Sorry 'bout that. Paige's…"

"Please, no worries," Pete assured, waving away his concerns, "That's nothing. My girls could give her a serious run for her money."

Hearing the decider of his career speak with a certain amount of easy warmth continued to puzzle Wilf. Based on the rumors circulating and then Nate's earlier statements, he had expected Pete Tyler to be rigid, stoic, perhaps even a bit cutthroat. However, that was not the sort of man that was standing before him. And honestly, Tyler's approachableness was putting Wilf off center.

"So, Mr. Tyler," he asked, clearing his throat, "what can I do for you?"

"Do you mind if I sit?" Pete asked, gesturing to one of the open chairs.

"Of course, please!"

Both men took their respective seats and quietly regarded each other. Wilf couldn't help but silently battle the uncertainty that flared within him now that it was his figurative 'judgment hour.' All of this wasn't helped by the fact that Pete Tyler continued to maintain an easy nature, yet still keep an air of authority.

Pete was the first to break the silence. "So, Mr. Mott…"

"Please, call me Wilf."

"Wilf," he acknowledged with a small smile, "I appreciate you taking a moment to speak with me. I know you're a busy man."

"I'm sure it's nothing compared to you, especially after today."

"Yes, well, I'm fairly used to juggling my time. Adding another ball to the mix is just par for the course. But, never minding that," Pete dismissed with a wave of his hand, "I wanted to speak with you about a few matters that have come to my attention. I'm not sure how familiar you are with me or the way I handle business, but I make it a priority to know the ins and outs of anything I take on. And with an acquisition such as _The Centurion_, I make an even closer, more in-depth inspection. Which means I know all the key players, and you are definitely a key player."

"I suppose so," Wilf acknowledged with a small shrug.

"There's no 'suppose so' about it, Wilf. It's a fact. And as such, I've heard quite a bit about you and the work you've done here."

_I'm sure you have_, Wilf grumbled inwardly.

"Seems you've made some of the higher-ups rather…unhappy…with several of the decisions you've made over the years."

"You'd be right on that, Mr. Tyler. I've tended to ruffle some feathers when it comes to certain subjects."

"Yes," Pete agreed, "Something that was also brought to my notice. I'm aware that you have chosen on multiple occasions to refrain from publishing certain articles, despite the fact that they were hot topic items. Quiet a few of them were practically dripping with scandal, but you held off. What exactly was your reasoning behind that? Wasn't it rather foolish to pass on such opportunities?" Pete leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms as he waited for a response.

"The only thing that would have been foolish would've been to print a load of supposition and rumor. I didn't see the need to run someone into the ground on the off chance that what was printed would be true. Nothin' good's ever come from shooting first and asking questions later," Wilf maintained resolutely, yet respectfully.

A simple, slight nod of the head was Pete's response. After a minute of silence, he continued, "So…you'd do it all again, just the same? After seeing all the trouble it's brought you, you'd still stick to your guns? Wouldn't change anything to make it easier on you?"

"With all due respect, Mr. Tyler," Wilf sighed, maintaining complete eye contact, "what sorta man would that make me if I traded in the truth, just so I didn't have to deal with a few arrogant prigs? I'd rather have clean conscience than an easy workweek. And if that's not something you're willing to accept, then I'm not the man you want sitting behind this desk."

There was a long silence as Pete Tyler rested his piercing gaze on the elder man. Just as Wilf was about to prod for a definitive answer regarding his future, Pete's features softened and he relaxed his arms, offering a good-natured smile.

"Good, that's just what I wanted to hear."

Blinking rapidly, Wilf couldn't help but do a double-take. "I'm…uh, sorry…what?"

Pete let out a soft snort at the elder man's surprised expression and stuttering. "I take it that wasn't the response you were expecting?"

"You could say that. Especially after the conversation I had this morning informing me there would be significant changes after today. Thought for sure you'd be handing me my walkin' papers."

Wilf watched as Pete's jaw stiffened and eyes narrowed. It was clear that he was more than a tad unhappy with that knowledge.

"I was unaware that you were approached this morning, although I'm certain about who it was that spoke with you. Yes, there were significant changes made, and Nathan Blane was one of them. He was one of several that were made aware that their presence was no longer needed or welcomed here. Having known the man as long as you have, you can imagine he wasn't too thrilled with that decision."

As the image of Nathan Blane being thrown out of the building by two burly guards played out in his mind, Wilf couldn't help the small satisfied smirk that tugged on the corners of his lips. For nearly six years, Wilf had endured Nathan and his innumerable attempts to intimidate and dispose of him. Naturally it had been a source of anxiety for Wilf, but it wasn't until after hearing that the man was no longer going to be a thorn in his side, that Wilf realized how much strain he'd been under for so many years. It was as if an unknown weight had been lifted, and it was a most welcomed surprise.

But it was just that—a surprise. After all, Wilf might not have agreed with Nathan's view of the world, but sadly, it was a view that was shared by the greater majority of society. Being aware of this, he couldn't help but ask Pete the question that had been forming in his mind.

"Why are you keeping me on? Not that I'm not grateful, please don't mistake me on that! I just…well, to be honest, it's…," Wilf sighed with frustration, rubbing his forehead, "what am I trying to say? My choices, they're not exactly the norm for this business. Why would you choose to keep someone who goes against the grain?"

The professional mask remained firmly in place as Pete Tyler mulled over Wilf's inquiry. It was only because he was paying such close attention that Wilf saw a shift of emotion in the younger man's eyes.

Pete cleared his throat before he started, "I don't come from money. For years I worked my fingers to the bone to give my family the best I could, which was often times just scrambling enough money to keep our flat. It wasn't till after…," he trailed off, clearly affected by some unspoken memory, before pushing it aside, "it wasn't till we immigrated here that that all started to change. Even then, though, it was never about money. It was about my family—making them proud, providing for them…_protecting_ them. Rose and Amy are…they're my everything…"

Wilf nodded, silently giving his understanding. Paige was his only living family, and there wasn't anything he wouldn't do to keep her happy, to keep her safe.

"I've never set out to ruin anyone, no matter my personal feelings; and fortunately, that mentality had been shared by those I did business with. But several years ago, one of the mergers I was involved with developed some complications. One of those complications was a junior partner—James Stone. Without going into a long, drawn out story, let me just say his termination was by no means an easy matter. Out of spite, he gave nearly every paper what he called 'the dirty Tyler details.'

Unfortunately, much to my horror, I wasn't the Tyler he sank his teeth into. He targeted my daughter. Fed everyone these sordid, completely fabricated accounts of a relationship. They'd only met once at a corporate event, something which easily could have been corroborated had anyone bothered to take the time to do so. Instead, they pounced on Rose, hounded her. Printed every vile word that Stone could think of to say. It wasn't till after we brought all of Stone's corrupt dealings to light that everyone changed their tune. But that didn't take away the pain and utter embarrassment Rose felt for months afterwards…it was a bloody nightmare..."

A righteous indignation flared within Wilf's bones as he listened to Pete lay out his daughter's ordeal. He could only imagine what vile slander this James Stone had spread about the young woman. If the barely contained emotion of her father was anything to go by, the poor girl had experienced serious heartache. It because of accounts such as those that he'd maintained his stance on truth above tabloid.

"So…to answer you directly, Wilf, I kept you because of your integrity. You're one of the main reasons I decided to buy _The Centurion_. I'd heard about you. Like you said, you are a bit of an oddball," Pete grinned, "You were mentioned in several circles, and I couldn't help but admire a man who refused to prey on people like my daughter had been preyed on. A man like that is worth backing."

There was a stretch of silence as the weight of Pete's words fell on Wilf. The appreciation from this stranger was humbling, and quite honestly, encouraging. It was refreshing to see such humanity—restorative, even.

"Mr. Tyler…I don't know what to say to that other than…thank you."

"You can call me Pete, Wilf. And as far as what to say, your thanks is more than enough. Nothing more is needed." With a sigh, Pete straightened and clapped his hands onto his knees. "Well, I've taken up enough of your time. No doubt you're as swamped as I am."

Rising from his seat, Pete moved to the door, Wilf following. They were just a few steps shy of the door, when something suddenly clicked in Wilf's mind.

"Wait…_Rose_…? Your daughter's name is Rose?"

Pete turned his head and a good-natured smirk emerged. "Was wondering when you'd put that one together."

Wilf's eyes widened and he puffed out a breath. "She…she never said anything. Not once during the whole thing. Didn't even drop a hint."

The smirk morphed into a smile as Pete nodded his head in approval. "Good. Means I raised her right."

A small mirroring smile emerged on Wilf's face, and he shook his head in pleased disbelief. Pete Tyler was a rare breed…a rare breed, indeed.

***NATG***

While Pete and Wilf were deep in conversation, Paige was sitting in front of her computer, her desk phone pressed tightly to her ear.

"C'mon, Jake…," she cooed to the IT co-ruler, "I know you. That brain of yours is so massive; you could do this in your sleep. I just wanna listen in on what they're sayin'…"

She pursed her lips as she listened to his response. "Legal is such relative term, Jake…Who's really to say what's legal, y'know?"

This time, as she listened to his answer, she glared into the receiver. "Well, you weren't too worried 'bout that when you an' Mickey hacked into the Marvel Studios mainframe, now were ya? …H-…Hello? …Jake?"

Growling in frustration, Paige slammed the phone down. "Butthead." She knew that she'd blown any chance of persuading Jake to help her, and that once he told Mickey about her comment—and he definitely would—he would refuse to help her, as well. Aggravated but resigned, she scrolled through her music, picking a playlist and putting in an ear-bud. As she began her day's to-do list, Paige caught a glimpse of someone who should _definitely_ have already been there and working approaching her desk.

"Oh, David, been meaning to tell you: I found this app on my phone, it's called _Clock_. It tells you the time no matter where you are…and here's the trippy part—it has these things called _Alarms_ that wake you up so you can get ready and go places…such as work," she quipped, her words dripping with sarcasm.

David Smith gave the young woman a mock glare. "Drink your coffee," he motioned towards the cup with his chin, "You're a bit too moody for my taste."

"And you're a bit too late for mine," she volleyed back, a dark eyebrow raised precariously high. "It's nearly 2, and you're just now rollin' in. Dude, you do know that you're employed here, yeah?"

"Ah, Paige…a gem, as always," David flashed an amused smirk before taking a sip of his own coffee. "You're like my very own cute an' cuddly cactus. I just can't help but hug you." With a dramatic flourish, he scooped her close with his free arm, playfully shaking her.

"Stop it!" she squawked.

Chuckling heartily, he let her go, ruffling her hair for good measure.

Huffing, Paige straightened her clothing. "Such a child," she grumbled as she smoothed her mussed hair. However, when she saw her lifelong friend's brilliant, albeit goofy grin, Paige couldn't help but grin and giggle as well.

"You're such a dork sometimes."

"You should feel privileged; you're the only one who gets to see this side of me."

She rolled her eyes and sat back in her seat. Walking over to vacant desk, David rolled the chair over and sat beside the young woman.

"What's with all the boxes?" he asked, motioning to the mass of cardboard surrounding her.

"I was playing life-sized Jenga. Obviously, I lost," she grinned up at him.

David waited a moment for her to give him a legitimate answer, but she simply maintained her grin as she picked up her mobile. Instead of repeating his question, he merely rolled his eyes. Having known the spunky young woman for nearly ten years, David knew that this was playful avoidance on her part; and Paige was nearly the epitome of stubbornness—she would not cave.

"So...what are you doin' here so late? This is at least—what—the fifth time in the past two weeks? Kinda startin' to become a habit, don't y'think?"

There was a flicker of guilt in his eyes, and he tugged a bit on his ear. "I don't think it's been _that_ many times."

Her dark brow arched even higher and her lips quirked to one side as she silently called him out.

"Alright, fine," David sighed, "So I've been late a few times…I can't help it. Joan's got all these publicity events scheduled to promote the book. I can't just back out on them. That's not very responsible, is it?"

"Soo…," Paige drawled, "in an effort to be responsible, you decided to be irresponsible? You do see where that makes absolutely no sense, don't you?"

"Oi! I've never missed a column, have I? I'd say that's rather _responsible_ of me, wouldn't you?" he retorted, offended by her assessment.

"Yeah…I don't see how you've managed that…," she knitted her brow, clearly mulling over something.

"Well, I have," David sniffed, "and that's all that matters."

"Huh…," Paige shook her head, clearing her mind for the time being, "Well, if ya ask me, Joan's just booking all these gigs so she has plenty of excuses to fawn all over you."

David rolled his eyes. "Oh, please…," he scoffed, "She does not _fawn_ all over me."

An unnaturally loud snort sounded from Paige. "Oh, David…my sweet, sweet, completely oblivious David. She's one flirty grin away from begging to birth your babies. An' I betcha anythin' that she already has your name inked on her derriere."

His chin hit the floor as he listened to her, completely gobsmacked. This only stirred Paige's amusement, and he watched as she began to shake with barely controlled laughter.

"I-I…I do _not_ flirt with Joan," he spluttered, "nor do I _want_ to. Our relationship is _strictly_ _professional_."

"Maybe on your end, but I'm tellin' you, in no uncertain terms, that chick _wants_ you."

_Well, thank you for making things incredibly awkward_, David mentally grumbled.

Shifting uncomfortably, he raked a hand over his hair before clearing his throat and changing the subject. "This chair is quite comfy," he wiggled for emphasis, "Much better than mine."

"Well, that sucks for you, 'cause it's no longer up for grabs. Gramps hired a new reporter a few days ago. I think she starts tomorrow."

David's interest was piqued. "Oh, really? Do y'know anything about her?"

At the prospect of talking about the new hire, Paige began bouncing with excitement. "I didn't get a chance to spend too much time with her…didn't even catch her last name, but lemme tell ya this: Rose is freaking awesome! We have a lot in common. Funny. Awesome taste in music. Feisty too, from what I can tell. You'll love her."

The description of the new hire was definitely to David's liking. But before he could question Paige further, the door to Wilf's office suddenly opened, and a middle-aged man in a custom-fitted suit emerged, Wilf close behind him.

"Well, it was a pleasure meeting you, Wilf," the man said while giving a firm handshake. "There's a few things I'd like to discuss with you, but they can wait till later."

"I look forward to it, Pete."

Offering a smile, Pete nodded and took a few steps over to Paige, his smile morphing into an amused grin.

"It was quite enjoyable meeting you, as well, Paige. I look forward to getting to know you better."

Her eyes flittered over to her grandfather, and on seeing his smile and face free of worry lines, her attitude towards the new owner instantly softened.

"Likewise, Boss," she grinned and gave a small salute.

Pete chuckled as he shook his head. He turned his head and looked squarely at David.

"And you would be David Smith, correct?"

"Uh…yeah, that's right." David's eyes widened in confusion, both at the man's identity and at that the stranger knew his name. "Sorry…who are you?"

"This is Mr. Tyler," Wilf introduced, "As of today, he's the new owner."

"Ah!" David nodded in understanding, "Well, pleasure to meet you. Your accent—I take it you're from London as well?"

"Born and raised," Pete confirmed, albeit in a rather rushed manner. "Been in the States a little over 16 years now," his eyes flitted to his wristwatch. "Sorry…I wish I could stay and talk a bit more, but unfortunately, I have several matters to attend to. But we'll definitely pick this up again soon. So, if you'll excuse me…," Pete nodded his farewell and departed.

When he was out of sight, David swiveled his chair back around and smiled at Wilf.

"Morning!"

Wilf frowned at the young man. "You're late."

Paige chuckled while David whined, "Is it too much to get a proper hello from you lot?"

"Hello," Wilf perfunctorily placated, "Now, stop lollygagging and get to work, son!" He turned and walked back into the seclusion of his office.

"Fine, fine, fine…obviously I'm not allowed to socialize. Pair of slave drivers, you are," David mockingly complained, his dramatics in full swing.

"Y'know that's right," Paige smirked and pantomimed a cracking whip, "Hop to it."

Instead of walking away, like was expected, David remained seated, and began to roll away.

"Dude! What did I say 'bout the chair?"

"Sorry…What's that? I can't hear you…gotta put my nose to the ole grindstone," he called out, settling behind his desk and finally putting an end to his procrastination.

***NATG***

Standing at his living room window, Joshua Daniels took another gulp from his longneck, staring unfocusedly into the darkening horizon. It had been his fourth drink in two hours, but the alcohol had no effect. There was no dulling of his senses, no hazy humor—_nothing_.

He hadn't meant for any of this to happen, could never have anticipated such outcomes. It had all started out so innocently; he'd only been trying to help a friend. But it quickly evolved into something more…something over which Joshua no longer had control.

As his thoughts moved to and fro, the velvet box housed in his pocket grew heavy. His hand sought the precious object, his fingers finding purchase against its smooth exterior and clutching it tightly, closing his eyes as a sharp pain radiated through his chest. Even though his mind was filled with chaotic turmoil, a sudden unexplained feeling cut through the mental clamor, and Joshua was gripped with the overwhelming need to talk to _her_, to hear her smile as she spoke. There was no choice in the matter; it was essential.

Taking the final swig of his beer, Joshua put aside the bottle and pulled out his phone, selecting her number in mere seconds. After two rings, she picked up.

"_Hey, Baby…"_

The sound of her sweet voice instantly warmed his heart, her dulcet tones caressing his tired mind. "Hey, Sweetheart… you still at work?"

"_Just getting ready to head out. It was such a long day…Have I ever told you stupid people annoy me?"_

The faintest of smiles pulled at the corners of his lips at hearing her frequently repeated complaint. "Oh, maybe once or twice."

"_Well, lemme tell ya, it bears repeating. How can people func-…,"_ she sighed,_ "Never mind, I'm too tired and just don't feel like talkin' about it now. What you in to?"_

Joshua closed his eyes, a swell of emotion hitting him with extreme force, rendering him silent.

"_Josh…? You okay, Baby?"_

The concern and anxiety in her voice did nothing to help his waning resolve. He wanted to tell her everything, to purge his soul. He knew she could handle it, without a doubt. After all, she'd stood by him through thick and thin, never once wavering. She was undoubtedly his strength. But he loved her too much to put her anywhere near the situation. No matter how much he needed her, Joshua would not sacrifice her safety for his own selfishness.

Forcing all his warring emotions aside, Joshua garnered all his remaining strength.

"I love you, Georgia…more than anything else. You know that, don't you?" There was a certain amount of desperation in his voice. He had to make sure she knew how much she meant to him, even if it was the last thing he did.

"_Of course, I do, Babe. I love you too. Always have, always will."_

A calm settled over Joshua as Georgia words filled his heart.

"_Josh…Tell me what's wrong."_

"Nothin', Sweetheart," he lied, "I'm just tired, is all."

"_You want me to come over? I can pick up some dinner from Giorgio's. I just gotta run home an-…"_

"No…no, I'm good. You go home and relax. I'm just gonna head to bed early."

"…_Alright…Call ya in the morning?"_

"Sure."

"_M'kay…Night, Baby. Love you!"_

Joshua could feel the smile in her words, their tenderness, and strangling lump of emotion formed once more, however, he managed to answer her despite it.

"I love you."

A double beep signaled that she'd disconnected. He gripped the velvet box tighter as a sudden dread filled him. No matter how hard he tried to fight it, to deny even the remote possibility, Joshua couldn't help but feel with certainty that he'd spoken to his beloved for the last time.


End file.
